Out of the Easy(13)

“You do? Where?” she asked.

“In an apartment above.”

“You have your own apartment?” The girl looked at me with a mixture of astonishment and intrigue. “Forgive me. I’ve been incredibly rude.” She thrust her hand out to Patrick. “Charlotte Gates.”

Patrick grinned at her stiff, official introduction. “Patrick Marlowe.”

“Marlowe. Yes, of course. The shop is yours.”

The girl wore cultured pearls underneath her round white collar. She was sophisticated, yet had a dash of boldness generally absent among the debutantes of New Orleans.

“Charlotte Gates,” she said, extending her hand to me.

I paused. “Josephine Moraine,” I replied.

Patrick coughed. I shot him a look.

“Josephine, what a lovely name. I’ve always loved the name Josephine, ever since I read Little Women, I absolutely adored Josephine March. Oh, but don’t cut off your beautiful brown hair like Jo March did. Yours is so lovely. I wish my hair looked attractive parted on the side like that. It’s all the rage, you know.”

“Jo, I mean Josephine, has always worn her hair parted on the side,” said Patrick, suppressing a smile.

Charlotte nodded at Patrick. “Some people are just born with style. Josephine is obviously one of them.”

This woman with an Uptown pedigree from an elite college had just paid me a genuine compliment. I opened my mouth, then closed it. I didn’t know what to say or how to react. Fortunately, Charlotte Gates continued to ramble.

“I’m majoring in English, and I still can’t get enough of reading. To work in a shop like this would be heaven.”

“Oh, sure, it’s heaven,” said Patrick.

Charlotte grinned. “Josephine, men just don’t understand, do they?”

“Not at all,” I agreed. “For example, Patrick asked if I would rather marry Gatsby or Mr. Darcy.”

“No, he didn’t! Who in the world would choose Gatsby over Darcy?” Charlotte caught on and turned to me. “Josephine—Ethan Frome or Gilbert Blythe from Anne of Green Gables?”

“Oh, Ethan Frome,” I said quickly.

“Out of pity,” said Charlotte, with an understanding nod.

“A bit,” I agreed. “But Ethan Frome had a hidden depth, something waiting to be discovered. And that cold, dark winter setting in New England. I thought it was beautiful,” I said.

Charlotte perked up. “It was set in Massachusetts, you know. And it’s quite cold and snowy like that right now.”

“It sounds lovely,” I said. I meant it.

Patrick rolled his eyes. “Perhaps Josephine should consider Smith, then,” he said with a snicker. “She doesn’t seem interested in schools in Louisiana.”

“Stop it,” I muttered.

“Are you applying to colleges?” Charlotte leaned over the counter. “Oh, Josephine, do consider Smith. It has a wonderful literary legacy. In addition to Margaret Mitchell, there’s a promising talent named Madeleine L’Engle who graduated from Smith.”

“Smith? Oh, I don’t know,” I said.

“Why not? You’re obviously an accomplished woman, practically running a publishing business and living on your own in a unique and decadent city like New Orleans. So many eccentric characters, I can’t imagine what you’ve experienced here,” she said with a wink.

“We have some interesting people at Smith too. I’m part of a new group on campus,” continued Charlotte. “The Student Progressives. We promote opportunities for minorities and women. Perhaps you heard about the Amherst fraternity that lost their charter because they pledged a negro? We wrote to our congressmen and picketed.”

I had heard about it. Cokie showed me the article in the paper. Several colleges out East supported the Phi Psi chapter in their decision to invite a negro into the fraternity. Smith was one of them. I was elated, but couldn’t talk about those things with most women in the South.

Charlotte leaned toward me over the counter and lowered her voice to a whisper. “Let me just tell you, I have no interest in knitting argyles. And all of those little books about domestic servitude? Straight into the trash.”

Patrick erupted with laughter and pointed at me. “She tried to convince my father not to carry those booklets in the store.”

“Of course she did,” said Charlotte. “She’s a modern woman. Josephine, you really should consider Smith. Let me send you some information.”

Charlotte took down the address of the shop and talked nonstop about Smith, the campus, the professors, and how she knew we’d be joined at the hip if I were in Northampton. Charlotte was a member of both the fencing and flying clubs at Smith and even had her pilot’s license. We chatted for an hour until she had to meet her parents at their hotel.

“I know this is last minute,” said Charlotte, “but my aunt and uncle are having a get-together tonight for my parents. They live Uptown. I’d just love if you’d both come.”

“Uptown?” I blurted.

“Oh, yes, I know, they’re ridiculously stiff. But come, and we’ll have a good laugh at everyone. Do come!”

Me? At an Uptown party? My mouth hung agape.

“Sure, we’d love to,” said Patrick, handing Charlotte the book she had purchased for her father. “Just give us the address.” While Charlotte scribbled down the address, Patrick motioned for me to close my mouth.